


Worry before dawn

by nrr



Category: Darkest Dungeon (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Reynauld's wife and son are in this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-22
Updated: 2021-01-22
Packaged: 2021-03-14 08:26:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28917549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nrr/pseuds/nrr
Summary: Perhaps there is somewhere in the Darkest Dungeon that has a good ending for our beloved Crusader, Reynauld.If only he could go back to where his loves await...
Kudos: 2





	1. She was just my nap.

**Author's Note:**

> In sometimes, on some certain day, when his mind wasn't filled with the hatred for those heretics, but for someone who was always wait for him to come back home...

He didn't remember. When did he fall? 

When did the darkness take over his eyes and blind his mind.

When did the daylight end?

But once he opened his eyes, the world was already greeted its new dawn. The sky was clear and blue with no white cloud nor the bright red sun up high. How eerie. So empty yet so lovely, he complimented the sky quietly. It was as if he never seen the scenery of the morning like this in his life.

How was it again? The sky of the Hamlet that was.

The Crusader found himself, laying on patches of green grass, fully armored. The soft grass blade tickled him playfully between joints of his suit, telling him to wake up properly.  
He slowly sat up on the great plain and found his strength in legs to balance back on the hard ground once again.

"Where?" was the proper question for the moment.

The breeze blew across the land, the grass were swaying along with it. It was cold, it was gentle, the breeze that was. Reynauld didn't know where he was going, but he'll let the wind guided him.

To the East where the breeze took him, in the middle of the field, stood tall a lonesome wooden home.  
Strange, how familiar the shape was, so did the slim figure that was approaching him. Like a lone lovely wild flower, her earthly green dress and her messy fawn brown hair swayed with the wind's rhythm, freely.

As beautiful as ever even from afar, his wife. Now that the wildflower was here, blooming and standing right before him, her natural beauty was truly unequal.

"Welcome back, dear," without any caution given, she threw her thin arms out and pulled him into a hug. Cropping the soft sensation of her breasts that was pressing against his hard and cold chest plate, Reynauld could feel her heart. It was beating, it was pumping and it was... longing for him.

The Crusader was caught off guard.  
Oh my, had it been so long that he didn't know how to respond to this warmth that was touching him. The blood soaked battlefield where he used to be never offer him this kind of comfort.  
He reluctantly hugged her back, afraid that his cold gauntlet might surprised her if he were to grip onto her thin waist tightly, but she wasn't.

"How many days had I count, waiting for you to come back, Reynauld," she sighed in relief, tears of joy mixed up with sadness brimming, flowing down her eyes.

As much as he would love to be embrace in this comfort of his wife forever, the Crusader had to let go. Awkward yet gently, he placed his gloved palm on her face, wiping away her loneliness with his cold thumb.  
"Cry not, my love. For now, I am here with thee," he said. His usual soothing voice had calm her down.  
Seeing her weeping face faded, he asked her a question that had been on his mind since he had arrived, "Dear, could you please tell me where am I?"

She shedded away her sobbing tears, replacing them with a soft, bright smile just like she always has for him when he comes back home, "Is it not the house we built together, love?"  
She then took his hand then ran through the field of green and to wher the house was. "Come, Reynauld. Our newborn son has wait for far too long."

Then, the morning was drawing near... much earlier than one expected.  
The bright light filled up the damned damp cove and seeped through his dark visor, waking him up...

The Crusader coughed out the foul smelled water, desperately grasping for fresh air in an exchange. Dirty liquid reeked of booze and ale spilled out everywhere from his helmet's hole, dripping down. He wheezed and heaved until his breath found its way back into his drowned lungs, filling him with a wave of relief. Glad that he was being alive, still.  
Reynauld looked up and saw a leathered hand extended out for him. Firmly, he grabbed it then steadied back on his own legs once again.

The Highwayman, Dismas, pulled up the cumbersome body of his friend and looked up and down, all around, checking for injuries, "You alright, buddy? Like your little near death nap?" then chuckled grimly as he spotted no wound.  
Good. At least he didn't hurt.

The Plague Doctor slapped Dismas on the back of his head. He let out a small 'ouch' and rubbed off the pain. She shook her head in dissapproval.  
Was the moment appropriate for laughing? No.  
This gal can't take his crude humour at all.

Reynauld looked around the empty cove, finding what he missed, "What happened to those cursed sailors?"

"Do not worry, Reynauld. Those fiends were already eradicated with ease," the Vestal who stood by his side said, looking up and down, checking for his injuries, then sighed in relief also.

The doctor had to step in and coughed, "You should see our Dismas earlier. He was dancing around like crazy, thinking you were gone for real," she giggled, recalling the moment before.

Embarassed and angered, Dismas turned red. This time, he slapped the doctor on her back, revenge. Hard enough to make her stumble forward a bit.  
And he can't take this gal mockery either.

"Hey! Mind your manner!" she barked back.

"Paracelsus, you were just as equally panicking as me! You kept checking his vital for every damn minute!" he snarled. "Told ya, he's not dead, just nappin'!"

The brickering went on and on as both their face kept flushing from telling each other their embarassing stories. Junia was very tired of this scene, but nonetheless the smile still played on her lips. "Thanks the Light for you are still alive," she said, turning her attention back to Reynauld.

Thanked the Light, indeed.  
Laughed heartily the Crusader himself, reassuring his friends, "Apology, my good friends. It seemed I had made you all worry for nothing."

"I just had a very pleasant dream, that is all."

And before he knew it, the dawn was already ended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was originally titled as Uhtceare, but meh.


	2. But she's just my nap.

Under the bright light of the evening sun, a young boy was plowing the land by his hand and with his tool, preparing the soil to sow for the upcoming Spring.  
Sweats soaked down from his face, but the smile lingered. He couldn't wait to see the day these seeds will sprout their first leaves.

Will his father be proud of how hardworking his only son became? The boy wondered.

His mother, a widow, approached him with a basket full of food and drinks. She handed him a small pouch of water and took the wooden hoe off from him.  
"Thank you, mother. I'm almost finish plowing," the son slowly sipped from it gratefully.

"Anything you want for our dinner, son?" asked his mother.

He handed back the empty pouch then took back the hoe from her, readying to continue the plowing, "I hope we can have pork and maybe with your warm broth."

"Lucky you, I just bought some earlier," she said with a smile on her face.

His mother nodded to him and went back into their lonesome wooden house, preparing for their lonesome family feast.

The boy let the cool evening breeze stroked his hair and wiped away his sweat as it gently blew across the field. As he was about to turned and headed back to the house, he was jumped by a strange old man.  
The old man grabbed him briefly by his shoulder before letting go as the boy raised his tool high.

This old man was a bandit, or that was what he assumed. With tattered red scarf and a knife by his side, what else could he be but a thief.

"You thief, think you caught me off guard, huh?" the son took an offensive stance, something his father taught him ages ago.

"Whoa, kid! Don't hit me with that hoe! I just wanna talk!" the old man said, panicking.  
"I'm no thief!"

The boy backed down a few steps. His hands still clutched tight on the hoe, "Do I know you?"

"Well, no, kid, but maybe you know this," the man then went through his coat and reached into his pocket, trying to find something.  
"Seen it before, no?" and showed it to him.

What did the old man showed him was the crest of a knight of The Holy Order, the one his father always wore with pride... now laid on the bare hand of this thief-looking man.  
"That... how did you have it?" the boy asked, his thought escalated to the worst.

Had this thief met with his father? Did this man rob the crest from him? Or this man-

The old man shook the object in his hand, drawing back the boy's attraction, "Take it, kid. It was your dad's, wasn't it?"

His head hung low as he took the crest off the stranger's palm, "So, my father is already..."

Dead was the word he wished he didn't know exists.  
He knew, always, that someday, someone will come and harbour the bad news with them. He just wished it wasn't this soon...

"It was his request," the old man then tapped him lightly on the shoulder.  
His eyes were filled with sadness and grief, "That bastard, Reynauld... He dare leave me by myself..."

"Father..." the son clutched onto the crest tightly as sorrow took over his face. Tears flowed down as he thought of many little memories he shared with his father. Although so few he could remember, that much was enough to make him wanted to cry.

The image of his father playing sword with him, the picture of his father teaching words to him as they rode on the horse to the wild and how he would kiss both his mother on the lips and him on the cheek at night... And the last memory of his was when his father, fully armored, galloped away into the woods...  
He felt happy, sad and upset to those images. These mixed feelings were jumbled up into one big mess of sorrow.  
Many more sweet memories kept piling up and coming back to him until his heart couldn't take in anymore of these emotions.

So, he broke down into tears. The hoe in his hand dropped to the dirt floor.

"Kid, what the hell?!" The old man was once again, panicking as he saw that the boy let both his tear and snot flow down. He unwillingly threw his red scarf for the boy to stuff his nose into it.

The gooey muscus of his was blown out, all of it on the tattered scarf. He was still crying and there was no sign of stopping, "My father... did he... did he really die?"

"Listen, kid! He's not really dead!" the man violently shook him out of frustration from the sight of his ruined scarf. He yanked it back from the boy's hand and... decided to let the kid had it. His hands were all sticky now.  
"Oi, Reynauld! Where did you go?! Your boy here keep bawling his damn eyes out for you!"

The son's whimper died down as soon as he saw a man in armor, so familiar to his memory. The knight rushed to his side and immediately kneeled down to his level. Even with the helmet on, he could tell that this man was upset with the stranger, probably furrowing his eyebrows.

"Dismas, what did you tell him?"

"Nothing?" the thief answered nonchalantly, still mourning for his soaked scarf.  
"Yuck," he said it in disgusted.

The Crusader ignored him. Later, he then lean closer to the boy, hesitating to give him a hug and all of the sudden, from being overjoyed, the son leaped into the knight's embrace and buried his face on the cold chest plate of his very own father.  
Reynauld sighed as he threw his arms out and drew the boy closer, into a tight hug.

Removing the helmet as he spoke, "Why are you crying, my child? You have grown up into a quiet handsome young man already," Reynauld said while gently patting the broad back of the boy as if he was holding a toddler. He pulled off a little to get a better look of his son's growing figure.  
No matter how old the son was, the father will always think of him as a small, little child.  
"All these years I have been gone... Forgive me," whispered softly the Crusader. All he could do was to tighten his embrace and said sorry.

And from the distance he could hear a sound of rushing steps, coming for him.

The wife just ran past Dismas and straight to her husband.  
"Dear, is that-"  
Feelings overwhelmed her heart, she couldn't finish her sentence.

Dismas watched in silence as the three reunited in their group embrace. It was a heartwarming scene and Dismas didn't have a heart to interrupt them even though hour might had passed by already.

Moment later, the wife broke out from the warm hug and shedded away her tears of glad, "Don't leave us again, dear," she said.

"I promise," Reynauld let the back of his gauntlet gently stroke along her jawline.  
"There is no place for me to return, but here."

The woman leaned in close. Her silky, fawn brown hair tickled his bearded face a little. She then planted a quick kiss on his lips, shy away and embarassed while Reynauld was trying to come up with a word for the love he got, but he could think of none.  
Their only son and the guest were still watching anyway.

She then stood up and dusted the dirt off her dress. The saddened face then turned into a bright and lively one. "Come in, everyone. Dinner is almost ready," she said with the sweetest smile Reynauld ever see. Even sweeter than the dream he had.  
She noticed Dismas who was trying to dry his sticky scarf, "And you should join us too, Mister bandit."

He shook his head, offended. Why must everyone labeled him as a thief? He wasn't anymore, alright?

The son walked after his mother shortly, the crest was put in his pocket as he glanced back at Dismas, expecting something from him, but said nothing about it. Leaving the Crusader and his bandit friend on the planted farm.

"Welp, I guess this is goodbye, Reynauld," said the Highwayman. His job to escorted the friend was over.

"Come, Dismas. My family would love to have you over for a dinner."

"Ah, no. Better not interrupting your quality time with your folks." Right, he was just an outsider and a nobody after all. Hope he had enough for one night at the tavern.  
As Dismas set one foot to walked out of the scene, Reynauld yanked him by his coat, dragging him toward his house.

"Maybe wheat beer may not be to your liking?" he offered, knowing his friend's favorite well. His chuckle grew as Dismas perked up his head after the drink was mentioned.

"Oh, free beer?" What to expected but to accept the bargain, "Well, as long as I'm not the one paying."

"And my wife's broth."

"Never have it."

Reynauld smiled to his friend, to himself, to everything that happened until now, "The more reason you should stay, my friend."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm dreaming of a woman  
> But she's just my nap  
> Your ship is in  
> Waiting on the tide so I can swim
> 
> I wrote this whole fanfic just from getting an inspiration from Red Hot Chili Peppers - The Longest Wave.
> 
> The chance of Reynauld make it to DD2 is... well, slim, but one can hope! Maybe a bit too farfetched, but could his son play a role in the next game? Maybe an npc? A new crusader? Oh, the possibilities...


End file.
